Náhwær
by Aerus
Summary: Warrior, Marshal and King, Éomer of Rohan is all the things he should not love. But how does one heal the heart when it has been burned? Heavy, heavy is the burden of an unrequited love.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Náhwær

**Genre: **Drama

**Rating: **T

**Characters: **Aragorn, Éomer/Lothíriel

**Disclaimer: **The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No finanfical profit is made by writing this.

**Summary: **Warrior, Marshal and King, Éomer of Rohan is all the things he should not love. But how does one heal the heart when it has been burned? Heavy, heavy is the burden of an unrequited love.

**Author****'****s****Note: **_I don't even know. _

I don't know how and why this even exists, given that I firmly believe Aragorn is quite content in loving Arwen and has no romantic feelings whatsoever towards any male or Éomer for that matter. I can't even tell if it is a good idea to publish this here – maybe I'll take this down if I start to regret putting this here. I suppose this is just a really weird experiment and a what if scenario. Well, things have been kinda weird lately for me and I guess this is just outlet for it and the stressful things I've had to deal with...

This piece follows the film as far as the canon goes, though there's some things inspired by book canon. I believe there will at most be one or two more chapters; I originally intended to write just one large chapter but around 7000 words I started to feel that a split was needed.

Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

_But of all pains, the greatest pain_  
_It is to love, but love in vain._

_– Abraham Cowley_

* * *

The windy plains of the Riddermark is where he first sees the Lion.

He comes riding from west, tall and proud and glorious like the rising sun. For a split second, Strider thinks this is how the dawn would look like, if it were to take the form of man. Yet the rider is stern, even grim of look. The flame of his anger burns him, twists his face, robs his features of their fairness.

But the important thing is that _he burns. _His spirit is aflame, wild and free and momentarily it catches Strider's breath.

He has never seen anyone before who lives each moment with such passion. And in the deepest shadows of his heart, he wonders how it would be like, to share that flame, and live in the light of it. The Lion's voice, sharp and deep strong, commands his attention, and he wonders if the others see inside him now – know what he is thinking, feeling. Surely, it must be obvious on his face?

Truly, he has forgotten how the Rohirrim are – how they are _so alive. _

_Éomer, son of Éomund, the Third Marshal of the Riddermark. _A moment of foresight catches Strider unawares as the name of the Lion is spoken, and It seems to ring with tones of fate. He'd expect nothing less from a man so fierce.

And though Éomer the Marshal rides to north, to exile and expecting a life of banishment, Strider knows they will meet again.

* * *

It is sunrise when Strider's premonition comes to pass.

Up on a hill, above Helm's Deep, side by side with Gandalf the White there is a tall rider. Sun bathes him in gold as he regards the devastation of war in the deep. One foolish moment, he thinks of how the Marshal must be here because of him. But he quickly understands the error of his thought. Éomer has come, but not for him. Loyal and faithful, he has ridden from exile, defying his doom just to save his king and uncle.

Éomer has come, and with him, the strength of the Mark rides.

Then, at his order, the Rohirrim ride and flood the deep. Strider has seen many a sight of surpassing beauty, things that mortal men cannot imagine, but the Third Marshal charging is a vision of wild magnificence. As he rides down to fight for his King, Éomer of Rohan is like the embodiment of all the virtues of Men.

He rides into the battle, and it is confirmed what Strider suspected before. A great warrior he is, this Marshal, and the uruk-hai falls down around him like straw. One would not expect such speed from a man so large and heavily armoured, yet he pushes forward and proves expectations wrong... like the fire of his spirit also lend him a power of arms such that one rarely sees.

They meet at the battle, and the dark eyes pass Strider's only briefly, and then he gathers his men again and charges. On that moment when they are faced in the chaos of the combat, Strider stares hard at the Lion, and he thinks: _See me. _

But he never does.

* * *

Night falls in the fortress of Hornburg. It is the evening of a very long day, but Aragorn is not quite ready to go and seek rest. Instead, he climbs up to the battlements, where _he _is already standing.

Though the work to clear the deep of the bodies of the fallen has already begun, the ruin and death is still there: corpses of men and uruk-hai, the abandoned war machines, great pieces of rock from the wall... and yet the skies are clear and the moon shines ever silver, and no mangling touch of battles can ever reach the high beauty of night sky.

The Lion is there, watching not the deep but staring at the stars in melancholy. He is not armoured now, but instead wears plain clothes of a man who pays little attention to his appearance. Even without his fighting gear, he is broad of shoulder and tall of stature; though he stands still and quiet, his presence is not silent. He is one of those people who rule their surroundings just by being there. And Strider is drawn, like a moth to a flame.

_If I could be just as alive... _

He hears the ranger approaching and turns to look at him, nodding his head as a greeting.

"Evening, my lord. I did not think I would see you up and about at this hour, not after the savage fight you endured", says the Marshal, and Strider smiles wearily.

"My body longs for rest, but my thoughts will not allow it, not quite yet", he answers softly. "And please, call not me your lord. After all, I believe I owe my life to your arrival."

His words bring out a low chuckle that rumbles deep in the Lion's chest.

"If anyone is deserving of gratitude, it is Gandalf. He is the one who sought us and brought us here", he says, resting his large warrior's hands on the railing of the battlement.

"But you were exiled and had no obligation to return", Aragorn notes; the look on the Marshal's face becomes grave.

"Quite the contrary. I have every obligation", he says quietly and turns his eyes away, and suddenly there is something very sad about his face. Quietly, he murmurs, "If only I had arrived sooner..."

"You came as fast as you could", says the ranger gently.

"Aye", sighs Éomer son of Éomund. He looks at Aragorn, "I thank you for being here with my uncle, and fighting with him. It is good to see him surrounded by such great men once again."

Strider smiles.

"It was an honour as ever. I would not hesitate to give my life in the name of the House of Eorl", he says.

"But let us hope you need not do that. I would rather you live, Aragorn", comments the Lion. A tired little smile comes to his face and he touches the ranger's arm. "Let us go inside. I believe we have seen enough of death and silence today."

Aragorn nods and they turn, making their way inside. Perhaps there is bit of peace there, if just for tonight.

_I will follow you. _

* * *

There is irony to it, Strider supposes as he considers the White Lady. That she should see him, while her brother does not. Oh, it is not lost to him, those looks that she will give when she believes he does not see. And he finds he does not know how to answer.

It is not that she is not fair. No, she's quite likely one of the fairest maidens among the daughters of Men. She is _his _sister, after all. She has the unbending spirit as well, the tall stature, and the grace. But while she is just as fierce as her brother the Marshal, her fire is of not the kind that Éomer has.

Hers is a cold fire, while his burns like the sun.

And Strider has been burned, beyond all soothing that cold could bring.

* * *

The night of celebration is one of the lighter nights of Strider's life... but it is also one the worse ones.

He has seen some Rohirric feasting before, and he has not forgotten the light abandon of it, the kind that even makes him forget about his cares. For a night, he can let go. In the rich Rohirric ale, in the music of this fell people, in the singing of the Halflings...

On the morrow, he knows the shadows of the world will return, and once again he will have to continue the endless fight.

But not tonight.

Standing by the King, the Third Marshal is a vision. Though he dresses plainly, in the manner of all Rohirric riders, he stands out – he always does. His tall and broad figure commands his surroundings, and he looks about, and sees everything, except for Strider. In the light of fire, his hair shines golden, almost making it look like he glows. Though he never quite smiles, there is serenity about him tonight. Strider keeps glancing at him, for he feels as though each glance might be the last. And never before has he so desperately wanted to touch _him _than he does now, if only to see whether one can feel the fire of his spirit burning on his skin too.

Knowing it will just get harder if he stays close to the Marshal, Strider turns away and seeks the company of those who do not have quite the same effect on him. For a while, he can even forget about his thoughts and the Lion.

For a while, he can laugh and smile, especially when Éomer conducts a drinking game between Legolas and Gimli. Then Théoden approaches him and engages him in a conversation about the time he spent as Thorongil and served under Thengel King. When they finish, Strider wishes for some fresh air, and he ventures out. The sounds of the feast follow him as he steps into the cool night. He lifts up his face, enjoys the breeze, and breathes.

_Oh, to be free, like the wind... _

It is moments later that he becomes aware that he is not alone, and he turns. At one shadowy corner, he sees the shapes of a man and a woman, locked in an embrace as they kiss.

Even if the man were not so imposingly tall, Strider would know it was _him, _for he would recognise Éomer of Rohan among a thousand faceless men.

He knows he has been burned. But never before this moment has he understood what it truly means. The realisation of it is hard and cold and he can just barely bear the knowledge of it. The worst part is, he is in so much pain, yet the Marshal notices not. Lost in his kiss and his passion, he knows nothing of the agony that it is causing.

Strider hardens himself, turns, and returns inside. Mithrandir gives him a look but he cannot tell if the wizard knows... it wouldn't surprise him, though.

Some time later, Éomer comes back to the hall. Strider sees, for the Lion's very presence draws him in. And he knows what is that flush on the tall man's face, what it means.

_He can never be mine. _

* * *

There are couple precious days before the beast of war moves forward. Couple days of light on those plains of green and gold, and in the halls of Théoden King.

They meet in the training grounds, and for the first time, try each other's measure. Strider has looked forward to this, and he is pleased when it is Éomer himself who asks for it. Though the younger man is ever friendly, Strider is always careful, for he fears he might reveal himself if he is not.

But whatever the Lion asks for, that he will give.

Needless to say, Strider is the more experienced one, but even he cannot compete with the Marshal's strength. He is skilled sword-fighter, Strider can see, but more used to fighting in the saddle. There is a concentrated look on the face of the Marshal, and he looks so intense, as if this fight was something more than just friends sparring. Strider must concentrate hard as well, to keep up with his partner and not lose himself in staring at that focused face... and the way droplets of sweat slowly roll down his forehead...

That almost summons imaginations Strider has only ever allowed himself on darkest hours of night, and it nearly ends the combat with his defeat. He can just barely escape the blow of the Lion's practice sword, and the fight continues.

In the end, it is his superior experience and his agility that win the contest: he disarms the Marshal. But unlike some men who would feel their prides wounded and march away in anger, Éomer just grins and congratulates Strider for his win.

It is the first time he sees such an expression on the face of the Marshal, and he knows he will not forget it.

* * *

On that night, they share drinking horns and talk away into night. They speak of many things, and Strider asks questions about the Lion's life and family. In quiet tones, Éomer speaks of his parents, the pain their deaths caused, the struggles of war, and the darkening of years. He talks of Éowyn too; momentarily, Strider believes he even sees a hopeful look on the Marshal's face, and understands the thought behind it. Éomer is hoping she might catch Strider's eye, and the two of them be wedded.

For a little while, Strider even considers it. Wedding her, after all, would make him a brother to the Marshal... and be forever united with him by family. And yet... that idea makes him feel like a traitor when he remembers the dark hair and the grey Elven eyes.

But this golden rider hold such power over him that he would even betray _her, _and it scares him. Yet he cannot help his thoughts and his desire.

After the Lion has gone, Strider stays awake for many hours, for his imagination is running wild.

Once, he rode and served under Thengel and fought for the Mark. With Théodred gone, it is clear how the future will go. When Théoden sleeps under the mound of Simbelmynë, it is Éomer who will sit the throne in Meduseld. He will be the King, and the King must always have his guard...

_Yes. _Thorongil could return and ride with the king once again, and never leave the plains of the Mark. And once that thought pierces his mind, he can see it: an entire life here in Rohan, basking in the light of that fire that burns inside Éomer. He could be the King's sword and shield.

_I could watch over you... _

But he is Isildur's Heir, and he is already starting to understand that his fate will not leave him on these sunny plains that he has grown to love. His is not the hand to defend and fight for King Éomer, and it breaks his heart.

On the morrow, a call for aid comes from Gondor.

* * *

"What will you do, once the war is over?" asks Éomer in the camp of Dunharrow. They are sitting by a camp fire, taking these last moments of rest and calm before the plunge down to the unknown.

"You believe there is a future for the Men beyond this war?" Strider asks back.

"Aye. I would like to think so", answers the Lion, scratching his short dark beard absent-mindedly. It seems to the older man that a small smile passes on that solemn face; each smile from this man is a treasure. Éomer continues, "For the first time in years, I feel like there is hope. I have watched the shadow grow darker for such a long time, but now it seems like it is dissolving. I cannot believe these events of late could only mean the victory of the shadow. You, my friend, along with the White Wizard, have brought hope to these lands."

Strider turns sharply to look at the Lion, and for one insane moment he thinks he might see his thoughts reflected in the dark eyes of the Marshal. But it is only friendship that he sees there.

He smiles, nevertheless.

"Do not underestimate your own value, Éomer of Rohan. That we could have such victory over Isengard is in no small part because of your vigilant watch and your return from the exile", he says, and it brings a brief smile on the Marshal's face.

"I am honoured to hear you think so highly of me, Aragorn", he says quietly.

_Oh, if you only knew... _

"Of course I do, my friend", says Strider, and then continues, "but to answer your question... I must say, I have not dared to dream of a future beyond the war and battles. And my heart tells me that if we should be so triumphant, I must go and fulfil the fate of my line."

But in the depth of his soul, he understands and fears what it would mean, and where that road would take him... looking at those dark eyes that always move his very core, he does not want to take that path.

_Let me stay. _

Éomer does not know of that painful thought, but he is aware of Strider's ancestry. He says, "And the Children of Men would be all the happier if such a thing would come to pass. The realms of west have been without King long enough."

"There is a king", says Strider quietly, "and he has his heir. I too would be honoured to follow either of them."

The Lion blinks and looks abashed. He lets out a small, embarrassed chuckle.

"They are but horselords, not to be compared with a king of the blood of old Númenor", he points out.

"Yet their hearts are just as noble and valiant. Believe in yourself, Éomer, like I believe in you", Strider says. The golden-haired man looks away, as if he didn't quite know how to take the ranger's words. But then he smiles again.

"You are starting to sound like my uncle, Aragorn", he says. The way it sounds, the syllables of his name rolling on the Lion's tongue, briefly stuns him. He feels like he cannot breathe, and each beat of his heart is an agony. Perhaps there is something strange about his expression too, for the Lion frowns, "Is all well?"

"Of course. Forgive me", answers Strider, and he gets up quickly, feeling clumsier than ever since the green days of his boyhood. But all is not well, and it gets worse each moment he has to hold back himself. Yet if he would just _let go, _there is no telling how it should turn out. And he fears he might die if he should see the warmth in the dark eyes turn into loathing.

_If I cannot have your love, then at least allow me your friendship. _

Later that night, their ways are parted. For the ragged Ranger has received the sword of a king, and Strider has to be put aside; he must fulfil the promise of his birth. Yet it is a choice that mingles the bitter and the sweet, as he knows what it will mean. He will have to leave the wide plains of Rohan, the sun and the ever-present wind... and the crown of the king will only take him further away from the golden son of Éomund.

He approaches Aragorn when the would-be king prepares his horse for a ride into the darkness. Strangely, seeing him has two urges fighting in the older man: one tells him to stay and ride beside Théoden King and his heir, but the other finds strength and hope in the Marshal.

"Have you come to tell me that I will get myself killed?" asks Aragorn, which makes the Lion smile.

"Not at all. I have faith in you, my friend", Éomer answers. "Though I must say, it is truly abominable behaviour to try and sneak away like this without a farewell."

"My apologies. I thought maybe you would attempt to prevent me from going", says Aragorn.

"You must follow your own path, like I follow mine. If this is where it leads you, then I wish you the best luck.. and hopefully, our roads will come to meet again", says the Rohir, his eyes serious as he rests a hand on Aragorn's shoulder.

_Aye. I will find you again. _

"Thank you, Éomer", says Aragorn softly, and moment of silence falls between them.

As he looks at the younger man then, he understands this could very well be the last time they meet in the lands of the living. Should he now turn and go, and keep his silence as he wanders into that strange shadowy path fate has prepared for him? If either of them should die, should it happen without the Lion knowing the truth?

That he would never know how much this ragged ranger cared?

_That I should go, and perhaps part with you for ever, without even holding you close for one time? _

The Marshal must see something in his face for his brow knits in curiosity.

"What is it, my friend?" he asks, and it is this endless moment of uncertainty that grants Aragorn the courage he has not had before now, and he seeks for his voice.

"Éomer, I must-" he begins, but then Éothain, Éomer's second in command, arrives.

"My lord Éomer, your uncle the King asks for your presence", Éothain says, robbing this one moment of honesty, and Aragorn doubts if it will ever come again.

"I fear I must go and see my uncle", says the Lion, and he does not seem to understand what has just been lost. He nods at Aragorn, and smiles, "Farewell, friend. I will see you in Mundburg."

He turns then and leaves, and for one last and painful instance, Aragorn watches him go.

"_Westu Éomer hal." _

* * *

The next time they meet is in the middle of the Battle of the Pelennor fields. Later, Aragorn will hear many stories of the ride of the Rohirrim, and he knows these events will pass into song and legend – but perhaps none so much than the deeds of Éomund's children.

He can imagine it with such vividness, and a part of him regrets not being there: the young king of Rohan, rousing his men against all hope, and laughing at the face of death. It must have been terrible and magnificent, like Oromë himself had come to battle.

Aragorn storms the fields with Legolas and Gimli by his side, and the army of the dead on his heels. The fury of combat takes him over and Andúril sings its lethal song as it cuts through orcish steel and bone. He rushes forward, and it is in the chaos of the fight that he comes across the Lion, bellowing orders for his men as he gathers the remaining riders. He stops only very briefly when he sees Aragorn, and he smiles – it is a crazed kind of smile, in the middle of all this blood and fire and death, but it sets the ranger's heart aflame. He very nearly leaps to meet the younger man, but the moment passes then and the riders of Rohan charge once more.

After the battle, stillness settles over the ruin of war, and only the moans and cries of the wounded break the silence. The day is won, but the cost is devastating, and too many are the brave men who will not return to the land of the horselords.

Quietly, the Lion wanders this scene of devastation, and Aragorn watches. He is covered in blood and grime, and he walks with his helmet in one hand and his sword in the other, as if he were still expecting the fight to continue. Somehow, he seems lost as he wanders there... and there is such grief on his face as he passes the bodies of the fallen and recognises a friend who will not ride home with him. Théoden lays there among them.

_Hail, Éomer King! _

It is all Aragorn can do from not approaching him, and doing his utmost to chase away the haunted look on the younger man's face. But that is not his place, and so he turns away.

But then a cry pierces the still air, and in a way it is a sound more horrifying than all the noise of battle and dying men. It is the sound of such complete anguish that it has Aragorn trembling... he turns and sees Éomer running, throwing away his helmet and sword. Quickly, the ranger understands the reason for it: the Lion falls on his knees beside the unmoving body of his sister. His cry becomes a howl of agony as he cradles Éowyn against his chest.

She does not wake up.

Only with great effort is Aragorn able to convince the young king let go of her, and she is carried back to the city and to the Houses of Healing. Her brother walks beside her, head bowed and shoulders slumping; a great man strangely diminished. And there by her side he stays, even as they lay her down for the healers to look after her, and the look of pain will not leave his face.

The only thing Aragorn knows is that he needs to see that expression gone.

_Life to the dying, in the king's hand lying! if I cannot be Thorongil for you, then I will give him up for the life of your sister. _

When Éowyn awakens and her brother sees the life returning to her, he lets out a muffled sob and buries his face in her shoulder. He speaks quietly in Rohirric, and Aragorn pulls back to give the two siblings this moment of relief.

He is about to go when a hand grabs at his arm. When he turns, the King of Rohan is standing there, and his face glistens with his relieved tears. He smiles and when he speaks, his voice is weak with his emotion.

"I cannot tell you how grateful I am, Aragorn. In saving the life of my sister you have given a gift so great that I do not know if I can ever repay you", he says quietly.

Aragorn answers the smile with one of his own.

"And you will never have to, for it is a gift I give gladly", he tells his friend. His smile widens, "I would tell you to go and rest, but I do not suppose you are going to leave your sister's side any time soon."

"Aye. I will not leave her now", says Éomer. "We will talk later, my friend."

_We will... but not of the things I would so wish to tell you. _

* * *

Isildur's Heir is never truly safe, not as long as the Dark Lord sits on his throne and seeks to end the line of Elendil. Thus Aragorn's road has often lead him to places of shadow and death, and sometimes he has escaped demise only by chance. He has given some thought to how he will die, but just assumed it would be in some distant land, far from the realms his forefathers ruled.

Certainly he would never have thought that death would come to him at the Black Gate of dark land of Sauron... or that it would be side by side with a man who is king among men. Armoured and tall, Lord of the Mark stands proud and unfearing, as if no darkness could make him lose his courage. With him there, Aragorn feels curiously calm.

_Dying by your side is a fate I can accept. _

But first, they must fight, and they charge. And the battle, the one to give one last hope when they have none themselves, is began. Aragorn feels no fury, no fear when he faces all the armies of Mordor; the horsetail helmet is always near, and the two kings push forward.

And if a miracle should happen and they should survive this day to see a victory of west, he knows this instance when they fight and bleed together and save each other's lives, is bound to make brothers of them. For fighting side by side sometimes forges bonds that endure longer than life itself.

_We are brothers in arms. And I would gladly die for you. _

At some point, he finds they are surrounded, and the mayhem around them swarms. As if they were of one thought, the Lion turns around, and they fight back against back... guarding each other for a little while more before they are overthrown. The form of the King of Rohan is solid and unrelenting, and over the noise of clashing steel, Aragorn can hear him singing.

"_And now this rider, this Rohirric rider  
Who wandered far away and soldiered far away  
Sees leaves are falling and death is calling  
And he will fade away in that far land!" _

There would indeed be death, save for the courage and strength of a Halfling. For the darkness is ended and the One Ring undone: in wonder Aragorn watches the Dark Tower crumble down and the servants of the enemy flee in terror. All that they hoped for has come true.

But as the high peak of Mount Doom erupts, he understands what it means. Two more had to die for the sake of free men of Middle-earth.

_Frodo. _

_Sam. _

Tired to the bone, Aragorn falls down on his knees, and Andúril very nearly slips from his hand. He feels weak and a part of him just wishes to lay down there, and sleep until all of this has passed.

But then, as he feels such complete exhaustion, there is the weight of a heavy, armoured arm on his shoulders, and the Lion is there beside him. Éomer does not look at him, but rather watches the scene of ruin before them, and still the weight of his arm is all the comfort that Aragorn could hope to have. And he allows himself one moment of weakness and rests his head against the young king's shoulder, and despite all, he knows an inch of peace.

* * *

Light flickers through the trees.

It is a very early morning, but two days after the last battle before the gates of Mordor. Much has passed since then – too much, in a way. Aragorn finds himself restless and though he knows his body could use the sleep, he cannot grasp that calm to rest properly. So he wakes up before most of the camp at the fields of Cormallen does, and goes to seek peace from the forest.

The morning is beautiful and warm, as though the world is celebrating the fall of Sauron. Lost in his thoughts, Aragorn wanders and walks forward, though he is not sure where he is going and what he seeks. For now, he just enjoys the peace and quiet of the forest... these days, such thing is a rare occurrence.

But what troubled thoughts he may have disappear as soon as he sees _him _through the trees, bathing in the waters of Anduin.

With strong strokes, he swims – his movements are smooth and effortless as he crosses the waters with lazy relaxation. Briefly he disappears under the surface. Then he reappears again and wipes hair from his face; even in doing something so simple, he is a vision. He starts for the riverbank and rises from the water, and Aragorn's breath is caught by what he sees. Naked as the day he was born and dripping wet, the Lion of Rohan moves with the grace of a great cat uncommon for a man of his size. How should one watch such a sight and not wish to touch it – to possess it?

Perhaps Aragorn makes some noise or the young king senses someone is watching him, for suddenly his sharp eyes scan the forest and his body tenses, as if he were preparing for a battle. Thinking it better to make his presence known now, Aragorn steps forward.

"Have peace. It is just me", he alerts the younger man.

"Good morning, my friend. I was already wondering if some band of orcs was stalking me", says the Lion; he does not seem to think anything of the fact that he wears no clothing at the moment.

"Indeed. Is it wise for the King of Rohan to venture alone into the woods?" asks Aragorn and tries not to stare the magnificent sight that is the Lord of the Mark.

Éomer snorts and turns to the pile of clothes, which lay on the riverbank.

"In case you did not notice, _you _are just as alone as myself... and I am quite capable of guarding myself, friend. One is met with quite enough of fussy guards that every now and then solitude is a blessing", he says nonchalantly as he begins to dress

"You do not seem to understand how precious you are to the Rohirrim." _And to me. _

"I am just one man", says Éomer, an awkward note in his voice.

"You're the last scion of House of Eorl. You're not just one man, my friend – far from it, to be honest. Should you fall, I fear what would happen to Rohan then", Aragorn tells him and a shiver passes through him. It is stuff of nightmares, to imagine this young man dead.

One day he will be gone, for his is not the life of Númenorians. And though he is young still, Aragorn fears that day of parting may come sooner than any of them would wish.

_A world where your fire burns not... _

Éomer sighs, looks irritable.

"Perhaps I should take my horse and ride somewhere far where none of this can find me", he says quietly and stares down. He has stopped with the task of dressing and stands there only half-clad. "I do not think I will make a good king."

"It is for that very reason that I know you will do well. And should you ever need help, you need only call for me", says the older man ever so softly.

The Lion casts a look at Aragorn over his shoulder, and there is a brief smile on his face; that one look pierces the heart of Isildur's Heir.

_Why must you look at me like that? _

"You have such faith in me, friend. I wish I can live up to it", says Éomer.

"And I know you will."

* * *

There is celebration that night in the camp, and those that have survived these great battles gather together for a feast. In the pavilion of Isildur's Heir all the living members of the Fellowship of the Ring come to celebrate, along with Rohirric and Gondorian nobility. It is light and pleasant, and laughter rises and falls in abandon.

Aragorn too feels the joy: he is able to forget about all things that await him when he is to return to Minas Tirith and ascend the throne... and even that ever-present ache of an unrequited emotion.

They continue until before sunset, sharing stories of war and adventure. At some point, Éomer arrives to excuse himself, for he will go and see how his men are faring on this night. Very nearly, Aragorn asks him to stay, but he holds back the words, lets him go. The King of Rohan nods and ventures out.

The night is falling when the four Halflings go their way, to share their pains and victories together; it is not lost to Aragorn how each of them miss for their home far in the lands of Eriador. Mithrandir is content in the company of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, and Gimli suggests a tour through the camp. Legolas agrees readily and so does Aragorn, and the Three Hunters go to see how the host is faring on this night of celebration.

Eventually, they come to the Rohirric part of the camp, and it is quite possibly the noisiest and merriest part of all the encampment. Night air is full of sounds of laughing, talking and singing. There is music in the air, and tall blond riders are crowding everywhere.

They hear _his _laughter before they see him. He is with his own men, sitting by a camp fire, drinking ale and jesting. The sound of his laugh stirs Aragorn's heart; it is a deep, rich sound, and far too rare. When the three approach the King, he turns and smiles – Aragorn has never seen him looking so happy and carefree. The smile smooths his features and brings out a younger man, and he is fair to look upon. He is so alive, it makes him glow.

_Why must you be like this? Why does everything about you call to me so? _

"My lords! Come and join us, have some ale!" he invites the man, the elf, and the dwarf. "Though if you will, I must warn you. My men appear to be on the mood to make myself and each other drink ourselves silly!"

"That I find agreeable! Let us see how the King's men hold their ale!" bellows Gimli, and silently Aragorn is grateful for the dwarf for accepting this invitation that he wouldn't have dared himself.

The Lion makes room and against his better judgement Aragorn takes the place beside him: _I should not be so close to you. _But then he is given a drinking horn and he tastes the rich liquid, and decides he will not let sadness or despair take his heart tonight.

He loves every minute of it. The laughter, the singing, the light banter between the King and his riders. Sometimes, Aragorn takes a brief moment to look at the man sitting beside him; one moment, he even imagines what would happen if he should pull him into a kiss right here and now. But as much as he yearns, this feast has taken away the weight of it. No, tonight he cannot feel care or longing.

It is late that he places a hand on the King's shoulder and suggests perhaps it is time for rest. At that point his men have well and truly achieved their intention of drunkenness, and the only battle their leader is fit for is the one of getting to bed.

Fortunately he agrees this is true, and with some effort Aragorn is able to help him on his feet.

The way they make for the tent belonging to the King of Rohan is slow, and the Lion leans heavily on Aragorn as he struggles not to fall. His weight is everything except for light but the older man carries it gladly. Somehow, they make it to the tent; the guards ask if their help is needed but Aragorn affirms he'll take care of all. And so they stumble into the back side of the tent, where the cot waits for the young king.

Éomer laughs as he falls down on the cushions, rolls around to rest on his back, and in mirth he stammers: "That I should see this day, when you lead me by hand like I were a child. Then again, compared to your age and experience, I _am _a child."

"You did not drink like one, brother", says Aragorn with a smile as he struggles to remove the Lion's boots.

"Heh. It is Master Gimli's fault. I believe I might murder him tomorrow", Éomer sniggers into his pillow and it makes Aragorn laugh too. It is good to see the solemn young man so merry.

"Oh, I believe you alone are to be blamed, for thinking you would have the resistance such as Legolas", he notes lightly.

"It is not fair, brother. Why are the elves better drinkers than us men?" whines the drunken Rohir as Aragorn pulls of his remaining boot.

"Probably so that they can annoy the Rohirrim", says the heir of Gondor. His words have the Lion laughing again, until his chuckles fade away, and he looks like he is about to pass out any moment now.

It is then that Aragorn sits beside him and places a hand on his shoulder. Éomer blinks his eyes, like in an attempt to stay awake.

"I never had the chance of telling you something important", Aragorn speaks before thinking – he wants to believe it is because of the ale he has drunk tonight.

"What is it?" Éomer asks, his words just barely recognisable stutter.

It is not in words that the son of Arathorn answers. Instead, he leans down, as though some outside force was moving him... and he finds those lips he has sometimes considered with longing. They are soft, just like he thought they would be... soft and supple, even though they do not move or answer. And then they part, though he can't tell if it is to protest or moan or if it is because of shock, but he is beyond caring now.

The Lion tastes of ale, of life, of fire. The answer comes at last, and when it does, it is the sweetest moment of Aragorn's life, though brief... for one endless instance he has _him, _and the yearning inside him is extinguished, if only for a little while. There he rests his heart, and he folds this moment gently inside himself, knowing already it must end.

And end it does, for then the King's eyes roll around and he passes into the land of dreams. But Aragorn lingers, leaning his forehead against that of his dear Rohir, and thinks of laying himself beside the sleeping man. Oh, how sweet would it be, to fall asleep here in the warm shine of the light that is Éomer of Rohan.

Still, he knows he must go, even if it tears him apart.

_But there will always be this one kiss. _

* * *

Aragorn has little sleep on that night, for he is busy wondering what will happen on the morrow.

Will _he _remember what happened? Perhaps it would be for the better if he didn't... if the kiss remained a secret, locked deep in the heart of Gondor's king. But then it will always be just half real, like a passing dream.

But if he does remember... what then? Will he look at the man he called brother with loathing in his eyes?

Or what if... what if he doesn't mind? What if he welcomes it?

Yet when Aragorn thinks of it, he does not believe the Lion would welcome it. _No. _He has never given any sign that he might share this emotion.

_Why must you make me feel so, when you will never feel the same for me? _

And so he is fearful as he waits for the morning and the inevitable instance when they will see each other. All night, he asks himself if he has destroyed a treasured friendship just for the sake of one moment of bliss.

A new day does come and the camp awakens. When the King of Rohan comes striding, he looks tired and slightly suffering, like is to be expected after the amount of ale he consumed... but nothing he says or does that day ever suggests he has any recollection of last night's kiss. There is no disgust or apprehension in his eyes – he merely thanks Aragorn for helping him into bed.

The older man manages a smile, says it is nothing. Inside, he feels a curious mixture of disappointment and relief.

* * *

For the rest of their stay in the fields of Cormallen, Aragorn keeps himself under control. He cannot afford another slip like that, no matter how much he wishes he could live it again. It is especially painful at nights when the memory of what happened in the tent haunts him. There are times when he can still taste the kiss on his lips.

Their time in this place draws to end, until the day comes that the host starts for Minas Tirith. It is time for Isildur's Heir to return to the city of kings and claim his throne, even though there is a part in him that would like to ride north... to that green and fertile land where this strange affection and yearning was born. But he knows what is his road and he must follow it, however bitter it might be.

On that morning as he stands in his tent and prepares for that day, Éomer King arrives; he is already prepared for the travel.

"Good morning, brother. Are you already considering an escape?" he asks, smiling as he speaks. Aragorn notes the young king is smiling more often these days.

"Oh, you would not believe all the escape plans I have thought of so far", he answers, attempting for a light tone.

"I can lend you a horse, in case you need one for your flight", says the King in jest.

"Do not tempt me, brother", Aragorn laughs weakly.

His friend takes a proper look at him then. He knows he must look very different, with his hair neatly combed and dressed in a garb fit for a king.

"If it comforts you at all, you do look like a king", says Éomer. "Quite a change to that ragged ranger I first saw on the plains of the Mark."

"I would wish that same man does live inside this finery", Aragorn answers. Something bittersweet comes to him as he looks at his fellow king. "Look at what has come of us. War heroes, with crowns on our heads."

"It has been quite a journey", agrees the Lion. "Though perhaps the real adventure is only just beginning."

"Aye. I have a feeling we have quite a road ahead of us yet... and I am glad in knowing that you will share it with me", says the heir of Gondor.

Soon after, they start for the White City... and Aragorn, son of Arathorn, goes to claim his throne.

* * *

**A/N: **The song Éomer sings in the Battle of the Morannon is in truth song called "Scottish Soldier" by Barry Taylor, only with slight modifications to the lyrics. I considered translating it to Old English as I imagine he'd be singing in Rohirric, but that would have been quite arduous and I have a feeling Aragorn might even understand Rohirric, so he would also know what Éomer sings.

* * *

Náhwær = Never


	2. Chapter 2

"Does it ever terrify you, brother?" asks Elessar on that morning after they have returned to Minas Tirith. He has invited Éomer for a brief walk in the gardens before the great festivities begin for the day. The King of Rohan has joined him gladly, as he is ever curious to see more of the White City.

"Does what terrify me?" asks the Lion back, briefly glancing at Aragorn from the corner of his eye.

"The way your men look at you – how they expect you to have all the answers. And the weight of your duty", says the older man quietly. He has only been for one day in the city, and he is already feeling like it has been a grave mistake to come here. But now it is too late to turn back.

"Every day", Éomer says, grimacing ever so briefly. "This is everything I did not expect my life to be."

Then he looks at Elessar, even smiles. He notes, "Sometimes it surprises me how much we have in common, brother. Neither of us wanted to become kings, yet here we are."

"Aye", answers Aragorn. Somehow, he is able to keep his voice even. "But perhaps our friendship will make better rulers from both of us."

Truth is stranger than that, though.

In the days of his youth, there was pride in knowing who he was, and that the throne of kings was his to claim. Much has changed since then, and often he has felt like his fate has pursued him with cruel determination... and the years of his life eventually turned the idea of a crown into a reluctant thought.

Even as the days of war have gone by, and as each passing day has brought him closer to his heritage he has found it hard to give up Strider, the free ranger of the north... and the son of Éomund has certainly not made it any easier. But now, as he watches the young King of Rohan and sees how calmly he has accepted his fate, Aragorn finds courage in the Rohir's demeanor.

_You make me into a better man that I am. _

As if he knew on some level what Elessar is thinking, Éomer smiles and gives a little laugh. He says, "And the knowledge that you guard south, and that I can rely on your wisdom and aid, is the only reason I am able to do my duty."

And Aragorn understands: they still stand back against back, like they did on the day when Sauron fell.

_Still I wish for more. _

* * *

The ladies of the court flock around the King of Rohan, which does not come to Elessar as a great surprise. He is young and he is king, unmarried and fair to look upon. As he walks through the crowd, he stands out: tall he is, more so than most men, and the green and gold of his clothing only ever emphasises it. In the middle of all this stone, he is somehow a foreign sight; vivacious in his rich colours, and pulsating with so much life. Now more than ever, his fire burns bright.

_Oh, if you only knew how very beautiful you are... _

Deep inside, Aragorn has feared this moment: what if there is a woman here that pleases the Lion's eye? Of course he knows it must happen – that sooner or later a woman must arrive and take that place beside the Lord of the Mark. But he'd rather it occur in Rohan while he cannot see.

But surprisingly, the ladies do not seem to spark Éomer's attention too much. He is polite and gracious, but all the while he wears that face Elessar has started to know as the one his fellow king only wears among strangers he is not too eager to deal with.

It is a selfish of him of course, but somehow Aragorn finds himself relieved by this. How painful would it be, to see that face alight with love for someone else?

On that night of feast, Elessar sees him slip out from the great hall, and excusing himself, he follows the young king outside to the garden. The night is rather beautiful; he can almost taste the spring in the air. He wanders forward but does not see the Lion, not until he comes to a terrace where one can view the city below and the Pelennor fields. There stands the King of Rohan, lost in his thoughts.

"I take it you found yourself exhausted back inside?" asks Elessar as he stops to stand beside the horselord. The younger man snorts and glances at him.

"Aye. I began to long for more than just fresh air", he answers with a look of suffering. "Tell me, brother, how do you do it? It seems to me you aren't assaulted as mercilessly as myself."

This makes Elessar laugh.

"I believe they are still too intimidated by me to really consider me in such a way... and your presence does not help, brother. You are fairer and younger of the two of us, and a king as well", he comments.

The horselord sighs, but says nothing. He looks down and Elessar wonders what he is thinking of now.

"You have not considered finding a queen here?" asks the King of Gondor at last, daring to voice the question that worries him so.

"Aye, I have thought of it. But I do not wish to wed just any woman I meet here. I would wish... I would rather she be someone I can love. So far, none of those fine ladies has made me feel so", says the Lion softly.

Aragorn can understand that, and he rests a hand on the strong shoulder of the man beside him.

"She will come, in time. You're still young, my friend", he says quietly, though he is not so sure where and how those words come. It is expected of him, after all... and then, even if the matter is so unpleasant as this, he'd like to see that troubled look on the horselord's face disappear.

Something like a smile appears on Éomer's face.

"You are quite right, Aragorn. But then, you usually are", he comments. "Now, shall we go back inside and give the unmarried ladies another chance of chasing after us?"

"If you insist", says the older man, summoning a face of great suffering. It makes the Lion laugh, and as his voice mingles with the sounds of music from inside, they return to the hall.

* * *

He is there when the King of Rohan sees _her _for the first time.

They are conversing with each other, talking about something mundane as the great hall slowly fills with guests. The return of the King has gathered a crowd in Minas Tirith, and it is the fourth day of the festivities. That is the time and the place when Aragorn feels like losing.

For in the middle of their talk, Éomer becomes very silent and still. His eyes widen and he stares at something Elessar cannot see. He has lost all awareness of the conversation, and at first he doesn't even hear when Aragorn calls his name.

As Elessar turns to see what has captured his dear Rohir's attention so, the Lord of the Mark finally speaks those fateful words.

"Who is that woman?"

Quickly, Aragorn's own eyes fall on the target of the Lion's interest. She is a young lady of noble blood, dressed in blue and silver; her dark hair and grey eyes speak of Númenorian descent, and she is lovely in the fresh glory of her youth. Yet there is something more than that, and he realises she must have some Elven blood in her. That narrows it down enough for him to know who she must be, for among the Gondorian nobility there is only one family that traditionally claims such ancestry. She is Prince Imrahil's daughter, one of the highest-born ladies in the realm.

"She is the Princess of Dol Amroth", says Elessar. It is only with great effort that he is able to hide the sorrow in his voice... for he sees the look on the Lion's face as he watches the princess, and its meaning is not lost to him.

"Could you introduce me to her?" Éomer asks quickly, and there is suddenly such light in his eyes – the older king has never seen it before. Somehow, it turns his heart heavy, so heavy.

"Of course", he says nevertheless, and the Lion hears not the silence in his voice.

And so they approach the princess, who is talking with a young dark-haired man that can only be her brother. The two children of Imrahil turn to look at them, and Aragorn feels a bit like walking to his own execution. And still he summons a smile to his face, even though he does not know how he is able.

The princess curtsies and her brother bows at the two kings, both looking curious and surprised... from the corner of his eye, Elessar can see that Éomer's gaze is fixed on the young woman. To his shame, he thinks: _Oh, let her be like the other frivolous ladies of the court... _

"I take it I have the honour of addressing to the Prince and Princess of Dol Amroth?" Aragorn asks, and his voice sounds like that of a stranger, as if it was not even himself who is speaking.

"That is right, my King. I am Prince Amrothos, and this is my sister Lothíriel", says the young man. He looks amazed that the two kings would pay attention to the two of them, and his blue-grey eyes quickly pass between Elessar and Éomer.

"Of course. Allow me to introduce you King Éomer of Rohan", Aragorn is able to say; the tall Rohir beside him picks up the princess' delicate little hand and presses a kiss on her knuckles.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady", says the Lion. Has he ever spoken so softly and gently before?

And she smiles as an answer, and her smile is a genuine one, friendly and warm. Of course there is no pretension in Imrahil's children...

"Likewise, my lord", she speaks for the first time, her voice clear and bright.

Elessar looks at the man beside himself, sees how the smile on that fair face widens, and he knows he has lost _him. _

_Then again, I never even had you in the first place... _

* * *

From that first moment, he knows how it will go... and as the festivities progress in the White City, Elessar watches his intuition come true.

The King of Rohan is completely infatuated. In the great balls set in the palace, he will only ever dance with _her. _He invites her to walk with him in the gardens and to riding trips. He brings her all kind of gifts from flowers to little delicacies and asks if she would give him the honour of showing him around in the city. He even visits the house of her father.

And the worst part is, Princess Lothíriel is just as taken with him. She is positively thrilled. If she at least were reluctant or acted like the overly eager ladies of the court, Éomer might even lose his interest. But that is not how Lothíriel is, and it seems to Elessar that all she does only makes the King of the horselords become more infatuated with her. In each other's presence, they see and hear only the other, and she makes him smile like no one else is capable.

He has not often seen two people fall in love quite so quickly, or be so... so _made for each other. _

It hurts to acknowledge that, but it is true... and the only reason Elessar can bear it is because it makes his beloved horselord so happy.

* * *

"When are you going to ask for her hand?" he asks one day, not long before Éomer is set to return to his own kingdom – something which the King of Gondor already abhors.

"Soon, I suppose. I do not wish to ask for it so soon after we first met. Perhaps when she comes to Rohan? It would seem proper to me, to ask her to marry me in that home of my ancestors", says the golden-haired king. That incredulous smile comes to his face, the one he wears every time Princess Lothíriel is mentioned.

"She is a fortunate woman", says Aragorn softly.

"Hmm. I rather feel it is myself who is fortunate here. She's everything I could ever dream of, and more", answers the Lion, his smile widening. But then his brow knits and he frowns, "Do you think she will be unhappy in Edoras? She is a princess of a great Gondorian house, after all..."

"I am sure she will be happy with you. And in any case, you can always visit Gondor whenever you wish", Elessar answers.

"Of course", says the younger man. He smiles again, "Quite a land this is, brother. I come here as a Marshal, alone and unsure of future will bring... and I go back as a king and with the name of a princess in my heart."

"Our fates take our strange ways", Aragorn says. It takes a lot to keep the heaviness from his voice. He continues, "and sometimes, one cannot tell where they may take us in the end, or what might be their purposes."

_Indeed, I cannot tell the reason my heart is so in your power... _

Éomer reaches to pat Elessar's arm, and he smiles.

"I hope your road becomes as clear to you as mine own has become to me, brother."

_Whatever it might be, I hope it crosses with yours. _

* * *

It is difficult to let him go. Difficult... and it feels wrong. On that morning when the King of Rohan is set to leave for his own realm, along with his riders, it is all Elessar can do from begging the Lion stay for a little while more. And yet he needs to learn and live with it, for this moment of parting was always in store for them – will always be in store for them – and in future, Éomer's absence will last months and months at a time.

_I can't just live from your light. I have to learn and breathe on my own. _

Before he goes, the Lion embraces him, and for one fleeting moment he allows himself be lost in the circle of those powerful arms. Yet there is something harsh about it as well: it is an embrace of a brother, and laden with steel and leather of the young King's armour. But it is all he can have.

Like the kiss, he breathes in this moment, lives forever in it.

But then Éomer pulls back, and his arms and heart are empty again, and they will only be more so once this golden man is gone.

Farewells are exchanged, and the King of Rohan rides away... Elessar watches him go, seals his heart, and eventually returns inside.

And the palace is empty, so empty.

* * *

Hours turn into days, days turn into weeks. Elessar is busier and surrounded by more people than ever, yet he feels alone in the middle of the crowd.

Sometimes, the white palace of the king feels like a prison, and he wishes to escape it... ride north, even beyond Edoras – to the wild lands of his youth. There are even moments when he thinks of the days of war with longing. Though it was a time of shadow, in retrospect it also feels like everything was so much simpler then.

_It was a time he was with me. _

There was no guarantee of survival, but there was surety that whether they would live or die, they would do so together.

The nights are long, and though he tries to find solace in work and wear himself down with it, there is no peace in dreams.

_I will always feel only half real, and half alive... my dearest Lion, will I ever be free of you? _

And often he will stare off towards west, hoping to see the White Horse upon green, and to know that _he _is coming... but the Lion is in his own land, far away yet always present in the chambers of Elessar's heart. He wonders, how is the younger king doing in his realm? Is it as difficult for him as it for Aragorn to assume that position of power and duty? Does he stay up late, endlessly mulling over the questions of ruling? Where and how does he find peace, or does it escape him as well?

_I wish I could see you now, my king. _

* * *

Long time ago, Aragorn made a promise.

Life was different then, and simpler. He was younger, more carefree and innocent. In the forests of Imladris he saw a vision and fell in love with it, and for the many years of struggle it was that vision which kept him alive... kept him going.

_Arwen Undómiel, a star of twilight for the Eldar. _

When she comes to the city, to fulfil the promise they made to each other so long ago, he can still see it – still feel it. He loves her yet, and always will. Yet that love is now mingled with emotion he cannot name. He has been so scared of this moment: what will happen when they are reunited? What will move in his heart when he sees her again?

And what if the light of Rohan's young sun outshines that of the Evenstar?

But in looking at her timeless face, Elessar understands that somehow the two loves of his life can coexist in his heart... that his love for her does not diminish that which he has for the Lord of the Riddermark, or the other way around. It is painful, yes... for of the two yearnings of his heart, only one can ever be fulfilled.

It is the ancient Elven strain of his blood, and the ancestry of Beren and Tuor, that Arwen commands. It is a high love, in the planes of the mind and in the sorrowful truth that the two of them are the last remnants of Elder days. It is sharing a burden, an understanding, a calm and a constant.

But the Lion... for him, it is passionate and spirited and fire and desperation. It is _being alive._ If Arwen is the water of his spirit, then Éomer is the blood of his veins. Love of the Edain, born of the hopeless briefness of their lives, and somehow made even stronger by that very fact. It is a love that endures death.

Arwen understands him in ways no one else ever will. But the mere presence of Éomer makes him feel more alive than he has ever been before.

* * *

On the day that he weds Arwen Undómiel, Elessar is happy that the King of Rohan is not there. He fears what he might feel if that tall looming presence was there among the guests... but for sure he knows it would be painful, and all the world would surely see what kind of love he hides in himself.

The Lion is not there, and for now, even if it is only a day, he can pretend he can move on.

She knows what moves in his heart, of course. Yet she does not seem betrayed, not sad for the love that he bears for another. Somehow, in the luminous depths of her eyes, he sees sympathy and understanding.

Quietly, he buries his face in her hair, and sighs.

"I am sorry for being able to give you only a half of my heart."

Her arms are a comfort when they come to rest around him. For a while, he forgets.

"It is all right, Estel. I am happy with whatever you choose to share of your heart with me... and perhaps he can give you the fire that burns not in me."

To himself, he wonders: why must it be so, that he should be so blessed with many things, and have the love of Evenstar, and still have this ache and yearning?

But such is the way of human heart, he muses. It will always want more, and it will always long for the things it cannot have.

* * *

He returns to Minas Tirith on a bright day of July.

As soon as the word of his arrival reaches Elessar, he feels the anxiety gnaw at his breast, and there is a powerful wish in him to ride and meet the King of Rohan as he travels through the city. This restlessness only leaves him that moment on which the Lion arrives to the Court of the Fountain, and his presence fills that empty space that has been there ever since his departure.

He approaches, smiling as he strides towards Aragorn, and then grabs the King of Gondor in what can only be called a bear hug. Breath is knocked out of Elessar, both for the strength of Éomer's arms, and for this sudden closeness that nearly has his heart bursting.

"Welcome back", he says when he finds his voice again. It is all he can do from pulling the horselord into a kiss... there in the front of his wife!

_I had almost forgotten, how you always get to me... _

"Glad to be so, brother", answers the Lion, smiling as he speaks. Then he turns to Arwen and greets her with a gracious bow. It is somehow absurd to see them both here – the two loves of his life. Briefly, he wonders what it would be like, to have them both...

But that moment quickly passes, and they make their way inside.

* * *

Elessar finds the Lion in the terrace that overlooks the royal gardens.

He has fallen asleep on an ottoman, resting on his back and snoring softly as he sleeps away the exhaustion of the travel and his many concerns. Laying there, with sunlight caressing his face and features smoothed in sleep, he looks so peaceful... and Aragorn stares, not wanting to disturb this vision of calm.

Yet he cannot resist it either and he quietly approaches the sleeping man. Runs fingers over the bearded cheek, touches fingertips to the slightly parted lips, brushes a stray lock of hair away. It seems to him that the young king smiles in his sleep._Oh, he is beautiful. _And his heart yearns.

But then Éomer stirs and sighs, and Elessar pulls away, trying to look like he has only just arrived. The dark eyes flutter open as the Lord of the Mark returns the waking world.

_What would you do, if I were to touch you when you are awake? _

"Hello, brother", he greets, speaking in tones hoarse from sleep. "I am sorry – I did not mean to doze off like that."

"It is fine. You have earned a bit of rest, Éomer", says Aragorn and smiles. Indeed, the days ahead will not be easy for the young king. He has come here to claim the body of his beloved uncle, and it is a task of great pain.

"Is something amiss, my friend?" asks the Lion as he sits up. His hair is tousled and feet bare, and a bit of naked chest shows from the neck of his robe. Elessar is certain he would be fair to look at even if he were dressed in the manner of orcs.

"I merely thought you would want to know that the company of Prince Imrahil will soon be arriving", says the older of the two kings; he wonders if he should have let a servant take care of bringing this message. Perhaps that is so, for that familiar sense of pain comes to him when he sees the smile on the Lion's face.

_She will be here soon, and you will not see me... _

"Thank you, brother", Éomer says and stands up. "I suppose I should go and make myself presentable then..."

As he passes by his friend, the back of his hand briefly touches Aragorn's.

It is a long while that Elessar can move again.

* * *

The last time he saw these fields of green and gold and the Golden Hall of the King of Rohan, he was but a weather-beaten ranger of north. And the man who now rules there was a Marshal, for Théoden King yet lived and the world was a simpler place.

Éomer King bids his guests welcome to his capital and Meduseld fills with grander company than it has ever seen before. Here are not only the lords of the west, but also the mightiest of the Eldar this side of the sea – even Mithrandir and the Ring-bearer.

When they have a moment alone, the Lion wonders in concern what might these grand people think of his home, but Elessar smiles and touches the hand of his beloved horselord.

"My dearest friend, you have the respect and love of all these people, and you have much to be proud of, as do your people", he reminds the Lion, and Éomer smiles.

"What would I ever do without you, Aragorn?" he asks.

For him, that question is far lighter than it is for the King of Gondor.

The days in Edoras are fast and fleeing, and Théoden King is laid to rest among his forefathers. For one brief moment, Elessar can see the tears in the Lion's eyes; great was the love this man had for his uncle. Silently, Aragorn looks upon the body of Théoden, and thinks: _fear not, my lord. I will watch over your kin from now on, and defend and love them, for they are as precious to me as they were to you. _

Late on that same night, at the time when most of the guest have already retired for bed, Aragorn seeks his host to bid good night. It is from behind the Golden Hall that he finds the King of Rohan, along with a barrel of ale. Shoulders slumping and head bowed, his very figure breathes grief.

In silence, Elessar sits beside the younger man and places a comforting hand on those powerful shoulders, the same way Éomer did before the Black Gates. The Lion offers him a drinking horn, which he quietly accepts.

Together they sit there, all the way until morning, and watch the sun rise.

* * *

After he returns to Minas Tirith, life falls into a routine. The good thing is that much of Aragorn's day is spent with the matters of the realm, and he barely has time for idle thoughts and dreams of what will never be. Of course, the absence of Éomer is an ever-present ache in his heart.

But there are times when he forgets about it, and those are the moments of light with his Queen. With her there are many sweet hours, and Elessar is reminded that indeed he does have much to be happy about. Yet still sometimes, his love for her is mingled with regret, for he knows he will never love her the way he would want to, and he can never give her more than just one half of his heart. All the while in his spirit...

_Oh, my Lion! How do I free myself of you?_

Riders from the Mark come every now and then, bringing words from the Lion. He writes of the rebuilding of his kingdom and the fight against the small bands of orcs marauding in the borderlands. Sometimes, he even includes small drawings along with his letters: there is bit of an artist in the warlike King of Rohan. Aragorn never tells his friend but he rather loves those little pictures and he keeps them with his most prized possessions.

Aside for occasional orc attacks, there is finally peace in the two kingdoms, and Aragorn rests easier with the knowledge that the friendship and alliance of Rohan is with him.

Time goes on. The year grows old and finally turns into a new one, and one day of spring Éomer returns to Minas Tirith with his sister, to give her hand in marriage to Faramir Steward of Gondor.

* * *

On that night of wedding feast, the King of Gondor drinks a bit too much of wine.

It is not only because every time he puts down one glass, a servant appears with another. It's also because this is the same night the betrothal of King Éomer and Princess Lothíriel is announced, and though he does all he can to be happy for his dear horselord, he can't help his regret and melancholy.

The young king himself is blissful. His face is aglow with happiness, and he rarely leaves the side of his bride on that night. And he keeps exchanging incredulous smiles with the princess; one could even argue they are just vaguely aware of other people around them.

Elessar is not much of a drinker and so he eventually starts to feel the effects of wine. But those effects do not include a numbing sensation to dull the ache in his heart, the one that is worse than ever since the time he realised his devotion will never be answered with the same intensity. Instead, it turns ever more piercing.

But after the daughter of Imrahil has retired for the night, Éomer comes looking for Elessar, and asks to join for a drink; Aragorn gives into this eagerly.

Somehow – and unclearly, that is – they end up in that terrace where he once found the younger king sleeping, smoking pipe-weed and drinking wine. Afterwards Elessar cannot remember half of the things that they speak of on that night, but it matters not. For tonight they are alive and they are together, and they sit side by side under the stars. And Gondor's king sits close enough to his fellow ruler to feel the heat of the Lion's body... idly he thinks how easy it would be to let go, tonight of all nights. He tries to think of Arwen, but it is impossible when Éomer is so close, and Elessar's thoughts turn murky and confused.

His head turns so heavy, and he rests it on the Lion's shoulder, fighting the sudden feeling of sleepiness. It is so warm there, so calm.

_I am at peace. Let me stay here, for now... for ever. _

"Are you still awake, friend?" asks his dear Rohir as he pours some more wine. He downs the drink with one take; his hands are starting to tremble in a way that shows he too is less than clear-headed now.

"Aye", Aragorn murmurs, but his eyelids are so heavy...

But then he is startled as the younger king grabs him by his chin, forces him to look up. Elessar cannot speak, cannot think. Suddenly, he is painfully aware of everything.

_Please... _

A voice seems to whisper him: _if you don't kiss him now, you will regret it forever. _

His head is swimming, his breath threatens to turn into gasps, and each beat of his heart is a painful burst inside him.

_Leap of faith... _

And leap he does, _and then, _he feels it once more, and the taste of pipe-weed and wine floods his mouth in one devastating kiss. It's clumsy and violent and mad, there is music in his head and he fears he may pass out any moment now, but he holds on – to this one flawless moment. And the golden mane of his beloved horselord is both soft and rough at the same time and it is so wrong, he shouldn't be doing this, nor should his dear one allow it... and how can something that is so wrong be so exquisite, so very wonderful?

He sees stars, and then he falls.

* * *

It turns out that they both pass out on that terrace. Aragorn wakes up on his own bed and later hears he has been carried there by none other than Captain Éothain of Éomer's guard, but the Lord of the Mark himself is too heavy to be moved about: in the end, Arwen merely decided to spread a blanket over the sleeping man and let him snore away in peace.

Éowyn and Faramir laugh heartily when they hear how the two kings decided to honour the marriage between the White Lady and the Steward, but thankfully no one appears to know what precisely did happen on that terrace... and he hopes no one ever will.

It is a memory that belongs just to the two of them.

As for the King of Rohan... he wakes up on the terrace, and never even remembers how he has gotten there. In the deep quiet of his heart, Elessar knows not if it is for the better or worse. But it seems to him that the younger king does remember _something, _for on that morning when they see each other for the first time, a frown briefly appears on his features. Then he shakes his head, as if to rid himself of some unpleasant thought... and he smiles, and all is as usual.

Whether he _does _remember, Aragorn can never tell. And he never dares to ask.

In his dreams, it will come back to haunt him... for no one else kisses with such a fire.

* * *

The next time he visits Edoras is when the King of Rohan weds Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth.

Ever since that fateful day after the war, he has feared this event, even if he has know it must come sooner or later. It is two yeas after the war ended and the two are desperate to be married.

Somehow, it feels like time has been running towards this point especially fast. Ever since the wedding of Éowyn and Faramir, the sadness in the King of Gondor's heart has grown... as if the Lion's marriage to the princess somehow makes the abyss between him and Elessar wider than it already is. He knows that drunken kiss is ever more unlikely to be repeated now, yet he clings to it, even when he knows he cannot live in a memory.

But what does one do when the future spreads on the front of you vast, and the things of beauty, those golden moments of relief, are behind?

When he looks at his reflection in mirror, he loathes himself and thinks: _be content with what you have. _

The Princess is beautiful and radiant on that day when her father places her hand in that of the King of the Mark. And the Lion of Rohan beams as well, and he has never looked happier than he does when he pulls his bride into his arms. Quietly, Elessar watches and sighs to himself; he remembers that one mad little moment when he even considered forbidding her from marrying Éomer... it is something he is no proud of, but at least he had the good sense of realising what a horrifying intention it was. His dear Rohir would never have forgiven him.

And the King of Rohan kisses his new Queen, and the two of them become utterly ignorant of everything else around them. A cheer rises around them and Elessar joins it, somehow finding the required strength in himself.

_I must endure... for you belong to her now._

It is also the night when Aragorn has one of his last conversations with Mithrandir. His mission fulfilled, the White Wizard has no purpose in Middle-earth now, and he will pass away to ancient West.

"It will be strange, my friend, when you are not here to guide us anymore", he tells Gandalf quietly as they watch a lively dance that is taking place in the Hall.

Mithrandir smiles, and his bright blue eyes shine with warmth.

"It is up to you now, King Elessar", he answers. "You, and Éomer King. And I feel that I am leaving these lands into good and capable hands."

"Hopefully that is true", says Aragorn softly. As he so often and unthinkingly does, his eyes seek for the tall shape of the King of Rohan.

"I say it is, as long as there is love and friendship between your kingdoms", Mithrandir speaks; sharply, the King of Gondor turns to look at the White Wizard. And in those all-seeing eyes he sees just what he expects. Of course Gandalf would know... perhaps he has known from the beginning.

He sighs and lowers his face, wondering if he should feel shame. Mithrandir's hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

"Love is never wrong, my friend", he says gently, "but be careful of where it leads you."

"You cannot take it away?" asks Elessar in a moment of weakness.

"I would not, even if I could. It is one of the most beautiful gifts Ilúvatar has given us... and especially his Children. Despair not, my friend. It may yet have a purpose that is hidden for now", Mithrandir says ever so softly.

Night turns late, and the happily wed couple is escorted to their marriage bed. It is not something Aragorn does with light heart, but he endures for the sake of the Lion's happiness. And happy he is, when he is finally left alone with his Queen and wife.

But in the Hall, celebration continues well into the night. At some point, Elessar ventures out to seek a bit of solitude, and perhaps some peace on this night.

As he gazes at the stars, he wonders: _will I ever be able to let go of you? _

Perhaps he just imagines it, but it seems to him that the wind whispers: _"__Náhwær..."_

* * *

**A/N: **I'm having some problems with the newest chapter of _House of Sun, _so you get an update to this thing instead. Hope you like it!

I said in the first chapter's Author's Note that this piece would follow the movie as far as the events go. However, here I've mostly gone by the book canon: Arwen arrives to Minas Tirith only after the war has ended and Aragorn crowned, Éowyn and Faramir wed some time during 3020 of Third Age, and Éomer marries Lothíriel in 3021 (which of course is the last year of Third Age).

I believe the pace of the story will get faster after this; there's probably going to be one chapter more unless something turns out.

Thanks for the comments!


	3. Chapter 3

******Chapter 3**

And so begin the years of the Fourth Age.

The passing of Elder Days fills Elessar with a sense of bittersweet, for the enchantments of old grow weary, and curiously he feels purposeless. It is not because there is not much to do and to mend: his days are filled with many concerns that come with kingship. And yet...

Until now, his life has consisted of unending battle, of strife and struggle against the shadow. Now it has ended and he is king. Settling down is difficult, as is finding a new purpose. Inside him, there is strange emptiness he does not know how to fill.

There are moments when he wishes he could be Strider again.

And the heart will continue to long for things it cannot have...

But the time moves forward, and when the King of Rohan visits Minas Tirith that winter, he brings joyful tidings: his wife is with child. And the way he smiles! He is excited and happy, and Elessar knows he will make a good father. The world is full of news of moving forwards: weddings, raising families, building and mending and growing.

Aragorn knows not why it is, but he feels like standing still.

* * *

Elessar is there on the night when a son and an heir is born to the Lord of the Mark.

It is an evening of late autumn when Lothíriel Queen goes into labour, and the ladies of the household quickly whisk her away, leaving behind the near hysterical King. The task of trying to keep him calm falls to Aragorn, and over and again he tells his dear Rohir that the Queen will be all right, that childbirth is quite a natural thing, and he needs to calm down.

But Éomer keeps pacing about, looking troubled and wringing his hands. He asks: "What will I do if she dies?"

Aragorn wishes he knew how to answer, but he does not.

Eventually, he is able to persuade the younger king sit down and pour him some mead; the Lion accepts the mug and stares down at the surface of his drink. He looks helpless and forlorn, and no doubt he is torturing himself with visions of horror.

Elessar tries to engage Éomer in conversation, but all his attempts fail more or less. The father-to-be appears to find no calm as long as this uncertainty continues. In the end, Aragorn proposes they share some pipe-weed, and so they sit outside for the reminder of it. The night is very clear, and though the Lion never quite finds escape from his anxiety, there is still a sense of companionship between them as they sit and wait.

Prince Elfwine is born just before midnight. The King of Rohan is called to meet his newborn sun and with a slightly crazed grin, Éomer tells his friend they will have to talk later. Then he hurries off to be with his family, but the King of Gondor sits outside until before first light. Then he stands up, feeling like an old man, and seeks the comfort of bed.

The next day, he is presented to the Crown Prince of Rohan. The little boy's father will not stop beaming in delight and wonder as he very carefully lays the baby in Elessar's lap. The Prince is wrapped in a green cloth and is currently sleeping.

"He is beautiful, is he not?" asks Éomer, looking a bit like he was the first man ever to have a son.

"He is", says Aragorn and gives a smile to the younger man. "I trust your wife is well."

"Aye, she is. She needs but rest for now", says the Lion as he sits across his friend. All anxiety has left him and he looks so at ease... recalling the day he first met this tall rider, Elessar cannot help but marvel at the change in the son of Éomund. Though that solemn man will no doubt make still his appearances, a happier one seems to have come to existence, and manifest ever more often.

It is good, to see him finding this light after the years of war and strife.

_At least you travel now under the light of sun... and in your shine, perhaps I can feel it too. _

"Even now, I sometimes look back and find it hard to believe all that has happened – and all that we have received. When you first appeared as if from nowhere on those plains, I would not have thought our ways would bring us here", says the young king after Elessar has gingerly placed the little prince back in the Lion's arms. "We are kings, with beautiful queens by our sides... and there is peace in our lands."

He looks down at his son, and he smiles.

"And here is new life to enjoy that peace", he says softly. He looks up then, lifts his eyebrows. "What is it?"

"You are going to be a great father, my friend", Aragorn says gently, patting the Lion's knee.

"Hopefully you are right about that", says the King of Rohan and smiles.

* * *

Elessar's own first-born comes couple years later. When he looks at his little daughter, he thinks she will grow to resemble her mother... but an odd thing to realise is that she will never know any of her grandparents.

A child of two kindreds, but born of mortals...

Arwen is beyond blissful. The birth of their child has brought her fulfilment, and he knows she will be a wonderful mother. And deep inside, he is happy that he has at least been able to give her this... even if he cannot love her the way he wants to.

They are fathers now, he and the Lion. Fathers and kings and husbands, and those two rootless warriors who fought back against back before the gates of Mordor are falling behind in past.

_We travel in same direction... why do I feel so incomplete then, when you have found your happiness? _

But then, as he takes his little daughter in his arms and breathes in the smell of an infant, he knows contentment, and remembers not the quiet emptiness.

For a little while, he can even believe that one day, he will be free.

* * *

There is peace now in Gondor and Rohan, but this does not mean that all the battles are now finished. In east and south, supporters of Sauron still linger – as long as they remain, the realms of West will be under a threat.

And so Elessar calls for the aid of his faithful ally, and Éomer answers. With him, he brings the might and power of the Riddermark, those fierce riders that are hailed as the finest cavalry in all of Middle-earth. With the joined forces of Gondorian infantry and the horsemen of Rohan, the Lords of West sweep over their enemies.

Though battles can never be had without deaths and losses, in the deep halls of his heart he also finds the times of war are when he is on his most energetic. This is no mystery to him: they remind him of the years gone by, when everything was simpler... and they remind him of the War of the Ring. But most of all, when he rides to war Éomer is there to accompany him – they are together, and the Lion's absence is only as long as night lasts. And even in the middle of planning and leading battles and dealing with the running things, every now and then there are those small moments when they can sit down, share some wine or ale, and talk.

In war, the two of them are in may ways in their most glorious, though he does not know if his dear friend would agree. Yet it is said that where King Elessar goes there also rides Éomer King, and together those two great lords are said to be a force of nature.

Of this testify the tribes of Harad in the war that determines the fate of South Gondor: in the end, they have no choice but surrender this contested land under the rule of King returned.

And it almost costs him the life of his beloved King of the Mark.

* * *

The peace emissaries wear the look of defeated men as they approach the company of two kings. They offer complete surrender and promise to no more try to claim the lands of South Gondor. Aragorn's mind is already brimming with ideas for that land as he listens to the words of peace, and he smiles. Future is turning bright for his people.

But then, in the middle of speech of surrender, a young man of Harad charges from beside their leader. He is quick as a snake and of those present only the King of Rohan is quick enough to realise what is happening. Though he is not armoured at the moment, he still leaps in the front of Aragorn... and receives that blade in his shoulder that was aimed for Elessar's heart.

Guards surround them and the villain who would kill a king as the Lord of the Mark stumbles back and collapses into Aragorn's waiting arms. When he feels the Lion's weight and his own knees buckle under him, his heart skips a beat.

_No. You cannot die. _

"Why did you do that, you idiot?" Elessar exclaims as he presses a hand over the wound; blood flows and wets his fingers.

In pain, Éomer grimaces, but then he smiles.

"As if I would let you die! I am replaceable, brother. You are not", he says, and it sounds like even speaking is a struggle to him.

"You are not replaceable to me, Éomer!" Aragorn snaps in anger. He gathers the hem of his own cloak and tries to stop the bleeding. He looks away, but only very briefly, and shouts: "Help! We need help!"

"It is all right", says the King of Rohan, his voice softer now... he is very pale and his breath comes as gasps. Has the blade gone too close to his heart?

"It is not all right!" Elessar tells him in desperation. "You need to stay awake. Stay with me. Do not dare close your eyes now!"

"Take care of my family", Éomer mumbles. His voice is becoming thick and slurring... and the bleeding just doesn't stop.

"You will live. You will not stop fighting now! Do you hear me? I will not let you go now!" Aragorn yells.

But he can yell all he wants, for his dear Lion's eyes roll around, and falls unconscious.

* * *

It is late and Faramir has come twice already to tell him go and have some rest, but Elessar still sits by the bedside of the King he loves.

At least they have been able to convince him change his blood-stained clothes – something which he did readily enough, as the very sight of Éomer's blood makes him weak with fear and torment.

He is still alive, but only barely. The amount of blood he lost... and the bitter fight they went through to save his life... a lesser man might have perished, yet Lion of Rohan still lives. He lays silent and unmoving, his skin so ashen, and only the rise and fall of his chest testifies that his spirit lingers among the living.

Elessar lets out a heavy sigh and thinks back: how he would have attacked the man who wounded his dear Rohir had Faramir and Prince Erchirion not been there to hold him back. The emissaries of Harad are just as shocked. Evidently, the assault was merely a deed of one vengeful man, and directed against Aragorn. Still, Faramir says he has heard mutterings that there are those in Harad who would rejoice in the death of the King of the horselords.

_He cannot die. He cannot. _

He looks at the unconscious Rohir and fear grips his heart. _What if he does, though? _A world and a life without this man... Elessar dares not to think of it, though it is very possible at the moment. Éomer's life hangs on a balance and there is no telling if he will survive.

Quietly, he picks up one limp hand, holds it tight in his own.

"Please", comes out as a broken little whisper as he buries his face in the palm of the Lion's hand, and tears burn his eyes. "Do not leave me like this. _Please." _

Sobs shake his shoulders and he holds on to that hand, wishing that somehow the owner of it would wake up and answer... make these fears go away.

"You cannot die, not now. You must survive. I... I do not want to lose you like this, without ever even... Éomer... I cannot do this without you!"

It terrifies him, to imagine a future spreading on the front of him and walking down its path without the knowledge and trust that his dear Rohir is there to accompany him... for he does not know if he is strong enough alone.

"I need you. Stay with me, my Lion..."

And he sits there, holding on to the unmoving hand of the only man he has ever loved, and begs him to stay – to live. His words turn into murmurs and whispers until little more of it is coherent than just the word _please. _

* * *

Though the enemy forces have surrendered, there are still many concerns to be taken care of, and much of Elessar's time is consumed by supervising that all go smoothly. But every moment of freedom he can snatch, he spends beside the still unconscious King of Rohan.

He spends the time mostly by speaking quietly, of mundane and extraordinary things, of his fears and how not one day ever goes by that he does not think of the Lion. He wonders what the other one would say now, if he should hear Elessar's words. But that would require he be awake, and that would mean the world.

When he finally does return to the waking world, it is late night, and Aragorn is feeling weary already. Still he keeps on talking and at first does not recognise that the patient has indeed awoken.

But then the Lion shifts and moans, and momentarily his fingers curl tight around Elessar's own. As his eyes flutter open, the King of Gondor pulls back his hand, for he is fairly certain he should not be touching his friend like this.

"Aragorn?" rasps the King of horselords. His eyes remain unfocused and he grimaces in pain as he tries to move.

"I am here. Stay calm and still. You have been hurt", says Aragorn as he places one hand on the patient's chest to keep him down.

"I am still alive? I did not expect that", Éomer mumbles as his guardian hurries to pour some water.

"Do you think we would let you die if there was even the smallest chance of saving you?" asks Elessar and helps the younger king drink. Then he touches gently the good shoulder of his dear Rohir, and says softly, "I believe I owe you my life. Thank you, Éomer."

That makes the Lion smile.

"Considering I am still here, that debt has been paid back in full", he answers. "For I almost got lost in the darkness and fell in the shadow, but then I heard your voice, and it guided me back."

Elessar is not sure how to answer to that, and for the moment he can but sit and try to keep himself from doing something both of them might regret later... so he smiles and somehow finds his self-control.

"Then it is good that I stayed here", he says quietly.

"Aye", Éomer agrees and sighs, momentarily looking like he is about to fall asleep. But then his gaze focuses again. "What of the villain who would have killed you?"

"He has been dealt with according to his crime", Elessar says, and a hard edge comes to his voice when he thinks of the man.

_He almost took you from me. _

He forces that thought from his mind and gives his friend a smile, "Your men will be delighted to hear that you are awake."

"Of course. I imagine this news will inspire them to drink themselves silly", notes the Lord of the Mark dryly. He sighs and fall silent, and then he asks: "Has my wife been informed?"

"Messages were sent right after the incident. I will send another and tell her that the worst seems to be over", Aragorn says quietly. No doubt Lothíriel Queen is already making her way to Gondor, if a word of her husband's injury has reached her.

"Good. She will worry herself sick, I fear..." mumbles the younger King as his eyes droop... but the thought of his wife brings a smile to his face, and then he sleeps.

* * *

Other wars come later, but never again does Elessar have to sit by his Lion's bedside and wonder whether he will see this man die of his wounds. After his recovery, the King of Rohan is his usual energetic self, and in all of Gondor he is hailed for saving the life of King Elessar.

And so the years roll towards the future. Marriages are celebrated, children are born, and the realms of west are mended. Aragorn's own son Eldarion is born eventually, and the line of Elendil secured. The Crown Prince is his only son among three daughters, but Éomer King is surrounded no less than four sons and two daughters. Whenever the royal family of Rohan visits Minas Tirith, the palace of the king fills with noise, and Queens Arwen and Lothíriel have their hands full in trying to keep the children from mischief. Usually, they fail.

But it is all for laughter, and after the dark years of past there is so much life for the both kings. Elessar finds that he is not unhappy, though what he suspected on that night of the wedding of the King of Rohan is true: in his heart, there will always be that one hurt and ache, and it will never go away.

Years come and go and time breathes silver into the golden hair of the King of Rohan, but even then he remains mostly the way he was in the days of youth. Indeed, as he gains on years he sometimes comes across as a younger man than he actually is; he too has some Númenorian blood, and it gives him vigour, keeps his fire burning.

Still and all the times does not pass without taking its toll, and the heaviest payment is their very lives. Friends near and dear take their leave along the years, one by one with terrifying inevitability. Such is the lot of Men, and though each loss is a sadness, none scare Aragorn more than the one that is thankfully still in the future. Usually, he dares not to think of it, but sometimes he asks himself: _what will I do when my Lion is gone? _

For it goes deeper than just the unspoken love of his heart. Éomer King is his most faithful and trusted ally, the one who understands his concerns and his plans, shares them deeply, and their vision of the future is one. How will it be when Elfwine rules in the Mark? Will there be such harmony with Elessar and Éomer's son as there is with now?

But when these thoughts come to him, he pushes them back and reminds himself that though the Lion is not quite that young man anymore, he is not old either, and has yet many strong years ahead of him.

And then, 27 years after the War of the Ring, a rider comes from the Mark, speeding to the palace of the King of Gondor like Sauron himself had risen and was chasing him. His face is very grave when he offers Aragorn his message that bears the royal seal of Éomer King. For one endlessly long instance Elessar fears the worst has happened.

He opens the letter and reads:

_Brother _–

_My wife is very ill and the healers do not seem to have any way of helping her. They have done all they can but she is not getting any better. I fear she has very little time left now. _

_You once healed my sister and my brother-in-law, and they say there is that power yet in your hands. Please, Aragorn, come and help me. I cannot lose her, not yet. Perhaps you have the power to save her too? _

_Brother, I need you. Now more than ever._

_Yours,_

_Éomer_

* * *

The Queen of Rohan is sleeping when Elessar comes to see her on the day of his arrival. The change in her is even more dramatic than in her husband, whose pale and sleepless appearance deeply disturbed the older king upon his arrival. She has lost a lot of weight and the shade of her skin is unhealthy greyish. Her breathing is laboured as she sleeps, and her cheeks and eyes seem sunken. There is much of grey in her hair now, though he remembers seeing none when he last saw her.

Quietly, he sits beside her and tries her pulse, touches her forehead. It wakens her and she looks up at him with weak little smile.

"My lord", she greets him quietly. "I knew my husband would call for you sooner or later. Thank you for coming... though I know already that I am beyond any help now."

"How do you know that, my lady?" he asks gently, though he is not so sure her assessment is wrong at all.

"I... I feel it, my lord. In my bones, and even deeper. The pain is becoming worse. And I am so tired of fighting it now, though I try my best", she says and sighs. "I would let go already, if I did not know how it will hurt my family."

Aragorn picks up her hand, looks down on it. He asks of the symptoms, of how she feels. Her answers, spoken in soft voice that accepts her fate, confirm what he has already feared.

He has heard of this illness, though it is uncommon among those of Númenorian ancestry. And the Queen is so young... she should not have it, not with her blood of Westernesse and the First-born. But fates are not always kind or obvious, not even to those men call the Blessed. And the inevitable, terrible truth about this illness is that it is not curable.

"My queen, I fear I cannot help you", he says eventually those words that weigh so heavy on his heart, regretful as he speaks. Though she is the keeper of that heart he has yearned for himself, he feels no rivalry towards her. After all, she _is _the keeper of the heart of the King of Rohan, and what Éomer loves Aragorn can never hate.

He would expect her to cry, but instead, a sad little smile comes to her face... granted, there is glistening in her eyes that implies tears. Yet they do not fall. She just sighs.

"It is all right, my lord. I did not expect it would be possible to save me", Lothíriel says, holding on to his hand.

"I am sorry, my lady", he mutters and looks down.

"Worry not for me. It is a restful place I will be going to, and I am not scared. The only thing I mourn are the people I will have to leave behind, the ones I cannot comfort when I am gone", she says, squeezing Aragorn's hand. "And my dear, dear Éomer... or, should I say, _our _dear Éomer?"

He looks up sharply, eyes widening in surprise. In the Queen's gaze he can see it: _she knows. _

Aragorn expects to see loathing or disgust, that she would think such a love unnatural. But she just smiles.

"It is all right. I have known, as long as I have known him and you. And it does not astonish me, my lord. It is very easy to love him, after all..." says Lothíriel Queen softly, her eyes shadowed momentarily as if she were looking back in time.

"My queen... I do not know what to say", Elessar mumbles. He has always thought no one knew... except for Mithrandir and Arwen, of course. He wonders: _am I really that obvious? _

"Then say nothing, my lord. I hold no grudge against you because of your love, for you have always been discreet and dignified. And it as only ever manifested as loyalty and friendship. You have been there for him in things that are beyond me – you are his best friend, King Elessar", says the Queen of Rohan. In silence, he nods. He feels relieved and grateful for her grace.

Though she is weak, there is surprising strength in her fingers as she grasps his hand.

"I would ask a favour of you, my lord. Watch over our children when I'm gone. And Éomer – take care of him for me. He will be so devastated... comfort him, if you can. I would wish him to be happy again, one day. It is all the same if that happiness is with you, for I know you love him just as much as I do. If you can do this for me, I would be able to go in peace.." Lothíriel tells him. Once again the tears fill her eyes. Not for herself, but for those loved ones she would not part with if she could so wish.

"Of course. You need not ask me to be there for him, my lady", says Aragorn and offers her a comforting smile.

"Thank you, my lord", she says softly. A calm expression comes to her face and she slips into dreams once again.

King of Gondor stays with her for a little while more, seeking strength for the sad duty he will have to carry out.

He still has to break the heart of his most beloved friend.

* * *

On a very late night not two weeks later, Elessar is awakened from his sleep by a knock at his door. He has wandered the sweet planes of oblivion where they are young and carefree, and the Lion's hair shines golden in the light of sun: it has been a place of comfort in this house of a fate unavoidable. Though he has done all he can, he knows there is nothing he can do to prevent death.

The knock brings him back and tiredly, he rubs the sleep from his eyes. He sits up and shivers as the cool air touches his skin; after getting up and pulling on a robe, he pads to the door.

His dear Rohir stands there. When Aragorn opens the door, he lifts his face, and all Elessar needs to know is written there.

The Lion is fighting so hard against the tears, but he is on the brink of losing. Never has Aragorn seen him so in pain, so hopeless.

_She is gone. _

Ever so gently, Aragorn leads the widowed King in and sits him on the edge of bed. He sits down too and rests a hand on his friend's shoulder. He has been thinking of what he should say once this moments comes, but now... now he sees all words are hollow.

"I am so sorry", he says nonetheless. And it makes him feel so inadequate, for he would so wish to ease the pain that is now tormenting his beloved horselord – he would take all that agony for himself if he only could. But there is nothing he can do.

Éomer breaks down then, and with a muffled sob he buries his face in Elessar's shoulder. His tears come as a violent burst that shake his body – even seem like threatening to tear him apart. All Aragorn can do is wrap his arms about the trembling frame of the younger king. And so he holds close the Lion, the way he has often dreamt he would, but not like this, not in a moment that is so dark and without hope.

Yet this is not a place he wishes to abandon the man he calls his best friend and in his heart loves like he has only loved one other person. He murmurs softly in Sindarin, lets the tears run their agonising course...

In the end, all tears have to run dry. That is what they do now too, though the grief of their origin is just as poignant. And the Lion rests his head against Aragorn's shoulder; for the longest time, all he does is just _breathe. _

"What will I do now? How do I live without my wife when all of me longs to be with her?" mumbles the King of Rohan in defeat and sorrow.

"You will find a way, even if it is hard", says Elessar as gently as he is able. "She would not wish you to end your life with hers. And you have your family – your children. They will need you, my friend."

"Aye", Éomer sighs. "I cannot leave them, even if death would seem like a mercy right now..."

He looks up and the look in his eyes scares Aragorn; he knows he must not leave his friend alone on this night.

"You can stay here for the rest of the night if you wish", he says softly.

"Thank you", is all the Lion answers.

They settle down for sleep some time after, but Elessar is not so sure either of them have any rest on that night.

* * *

Aragorn leaves for Minas Tirith after the burial of Lothíriel Queen.

He feels no comfort in doing that, for the deep grief in the House of Eorl makes him feel like he is the one who should fix it... even if there is no way he could. He takes Elfwine's oath that the Prince will call him if it looks like the King of Rohan is slipping. Elfwine promises to do that, for he is just as concerned for his grieving father as everyone else.

Elessar hates to leave his beloved Lion, but he is the King of Gondor, and he must return home. He does so with a heavy, heavy heart.

_Oh, my dear one, if I only could take your pain to myself... _

As for the Lord of the Mark himself, his thirst for life seems to be gone – the very edge of his fire and spirit appears to have disappeared. He is more quiet and melancholy, and he keeps on wandering to the grave of his wife. Aragorn fears how it will turn out when he is gone and not there to watch over his Lion. For all his attempts of comfort, nothing seems to reach through that shell of grief.

But like they spoke on that night of Lothíriel's passing, Éomer lives – if only for his children. For all of them, her death is a sadness, and it will take years to heal for she was the heart of their family.

Elfwine never calls for Elessar and Aragorn hopes this is a good thing. Though he would not hesitate to hurry and see his widowed friend, he would rather Éomer survive his grief... and live on.

Survive he does, but the next time the King of Rohan visits Gondor, the older king knows his beloved horselord will never be the same as he was before Lothíriel Queen's death.

* * *

Like Théoden King in his time, Éomer does not remarry. He is not even as young as Théoden was at the time of his loss, and he has four strong sons and two daughters to carry on his line.

Elessar understands: like no one could replace Arwen or Éomer, no one can replace Lothíriel. And so, even as he tries to reach for the heart that is now buried deep in the winter of grief, Aragorn knows he can never comfort the Lion the way he or Lothíriel would want to.

As ever, the time moves forward, unknowing of losses and sorrows that tear apart human hearts.

Two years after the death of Lothíriel, Elessar finds Prince Elfwine kissing Princess Eleirien, his second-born daughter. From that moment, things proceed in their own way, and next year on a day of May, the Crown Prince of Rohan is wed to the Princess of Gondor.

It is the first time Elessar sees the Lion smiling after _she _died, for the happiness of the newly-weds is an infecting kind... and it reminds them all of that bliss of being just married. When Aragorn looks at his daughter and the son of that man he has loved, he remembers what it was like to be young and in love. Even more so, it brings him curious feeling of happiness to know that his blood will be mingled with that of Éomer... and the kings to rule the realm of Rohan will claim ancestry back to both of them.

_In our children and children's children, we are together. _

On the night of the wedding, the two kings go outside to catch some fresh air. In silence, they walk on for a while, both lost in their thoughts.

After some time, Éomer speaks.

"You still remember that day? Years back during the War of the Ring, when we met on the plains?" he asks ever so quietly.

"How could I forget?" Aragorn asks back.

_After all, it was the first time I saw you, and all times I have been allowed to spend with you are memories I cherish. _

But he speaks not aloud his thoughts. Instead, he just smiles and hopes the younger king will not notice the bittersweet of that smile.

The King of Rohan smiles too.

"I know now it was the day my life changed", he muses. "Had you not come to the Mark, I wonder what would have happened."

"Think not of such things. We all have altered each others' lives permanently, but the worlds of what could have been are not worthy of our concern", says Elessar; he wishes not to dwell on what could have been... for many reasons, to be completely honest.

"You are right, of course", says the King of Rohan. There is an incredulous look on his face, "My son, married to your daughter. In a way, it makes sense. Our alliance should continue even after we both are gone. Perhaps love is what will preserve it evermore."

"I hope so, brother", Aragorn says softly.

Éomer King stops then and looks at him, face serious and thoughtful.

"Brother, I never thanked you for what you did after _she _died. I do not know how I would have survived without your support", he tells the older king.

"You are my friend and brother, Éomer. How could I abandon you in the middle of such loss?" asks Elessar.

The Lord of the Mark hems softly and Aragorn guesses it is because it is still too painful to speak too lengthily of this. The dear one turns to look away and sighs.

"She would have loved all this. She would have wanted to live to see Elfwine wedded", he says quietly. Pain resonates in his voice and Aragorn knows he still grieves – always will, until his dying breath.

"Perhaps she is watching even now", offers the King of Gondor gently and touches the shoulder of his friend.

"I hope so", Éomer answers and his voice is little more than a whisper. He looks up then and though there are tears in his eyes, he still smiles. "Shall we go inside? I believe they are soon starting with the dancing, and we should not allow our children to escape without a chance to embarrass them."

"In that, you are quite right", Aragorn answers and they both grin.

He is glad to notice that there are still moments like this in store for them.

* * *

Their grandson is born next summer.

Elessar and Arwen are called to see little Eadric, the Prince and the heir of Elfwine the Fair. He is two months old when the King and Queen of Gondor finally come to see the child, and looking at him, Aragorn knows he will look like Lothíriel. Éomer King knows that too, for often he sits with the little one in his lap... and in his face, there is a look of both joy and sadness. The older king almost goes and wraps his arms around that suffering form but he does not, knowing it would not be welcomed – not on a moment like this. The Lion is wandering his memories... the sort that Elessar has no place or part in.

And so their children start to get married. Weddings come and soon children too, and they know their lines will live on after them. It is somehow a bittersweet thought, but also comforting.

_Our legacy will live, even if ourselves and our loves will not. _

Now, more than ever, Elessar knows that one day he must farewell his beloved son of fire and sun.

But not yet... not quite yet.

* * *

There is restlessness in Rhûn and like he is used to, Elessar sends word to Rohan, to ask for aid: he has learnt to appreciate the power of Rohirric riders.

Every time before now, Éomer has come himself, along with riders as strong as Aragorn needs. He is a warrior king after all, and even on his later years he has been a force to be reckoned with.

But now it is Elfwine that rides from the Mark, leading his father's horsemen. It is that moment Elessar knows Éomer has grown old. It fills him not with anger or disappointment. The only thing he feels is fear of losing.

_If you ride no more, what will I do? If you ride no more, how soon will you be gone? _

The battles are fought and won but there is one strife that remains.

That is the one of battling despair and the knowledge of inevitable loss... but that is one fight Aragorn knows he will never win.

For when Éomer dies, he knows much of himself will die along.

* * *

The Lion is _old _when Aragorn sees him next time.

His hair which once was gold is now white as the freshly fallen snow. Age has carved its paths on his face, but to Elessar it is still fair – it is still dear and beloved. And grief, that which has been there ever since the death of Lothíriel, has made its home in dark eyes and features that were once so young.

And still, when he looks on that face, he can remember the young man... the one he encountered on the plains, and the one he stood before the gates of Mordor. Strength of arms is leaving but nothing can take away the strength of heart, even if it is in part ruled by sadness.

On that year Prince Eadric turns 25, the King of Rohan along with his daughters comes to visit Minas Tirith. Princess Elfhild tells Aragorn it was Elfwine's idea: Father has been so down lately, and they are hoping some time away from Edoras will cheer him up. It has been almost 30 years since the death of Lothíriel Queen, but as he looks at the King of Rohan, he knows his dear horselord misses her as much as ever.

She is still there, ruling his heart and his mind... calling him home. That is as difficult for his children to accept as it is for the King of Gondor.

And Elessar wonders: _how much longer do I get to keep you? _

Though it is not keeping what he does, he does his best to make his friend smile and laugh. Poor Lothíriel never quite understood how hard it would be to comfort her husband once she were gone.

Still, there are moments of lightness and companionship, when the sorrows of past are momentarily forgotten. As the two kings walk in the gardens of the palace or sit talking away into night, Aragorn tries to enjoy it to the fullest, so that he can remember these moments when the man beside him is here no more.

And sometimes, when the Lion thinks Aragorn does not see, he looks so tired.

A week later, it happens. On one late evening, Elessar is returning to his own chambers when he sees the Lion down: he has collapsed on the floor and lies so still that for a moment Aragorn thinks he is dead. As his heart freezes, the King of Gondor runs for the unmoving shape of his dear Rohir, falls on his knees...

_No, no... you cannot go yet._

Put as he seeks the wrist of the Lord of the Mark, he feels that the younger man is still alive, and he calls for help.

The healers tell him exactly the things he expects: it is Éomer King's age, his heart is failing, it is only natural. Elessar would want to argue there is nothing natural in this, though he knows such claim is wrong: old age and death is the lot of Men. And so he sits beside the Lion that night, like on that one time before when he thought he would lose this man... only, now it is becoming more and more likely.

As he looks at the sleeping face of his dearest friend, Aragorn knows that a time is coming when he will have to let go.

_I am scared. _

* * *

Though he tries to tell his friend he should not go yet or ride, Éomer just smiles and shakes his head.

"Brother, on the day I cannot climb in the saddle they may as well bury me. After all, I am the King of the horselords", he says and Elessar knows there is no changing his mind. Quietly, he muses the Lion would not even mind it if he fell dead from the saddle.

And he refrains from asking the younger king stay, for he fears this could be the last time he will see him alive, and in their parting embrace there is a silent _goodbye, _just in case.

But though Éomer grows more weary with each passing months, there are still few more years left... years of twilight, and saying farewell.

Aragorn looks around himself, and then forward and behind himself: he sees the wounds of war mended, the years of plenty, kingdoms reunited and rebuilt, the battles fought. Hopes fulfilled and others forever incomplete, dreams and fears and sorrows. Friendships and loved ones and children born and raised, growing and fading and acceptance. Lives well lived and loved to the fullest. As it has been sweet, so it is bitter.

And finally, 65 years after the War of the Ring, Éomer King calls King Elessar to visit him for one last time.

* * *

There is a part in him that would not wish to see this. That part would want the unavoidable happen without him having to witness it. But then... he knows he would regret that more than he will ever regret being there.

He needs to say goodbye.

It is autumn when he comes to Edoras and a sleepless-looking Elfwine bids him welcome.

"Father has been asking for you for days now. It seems to me he lingers here only because of you", he says quietly. Though he too has grown to the late years of his life, he still looks just as terrified of what will soon happen. Elessar can understand that, for in many ways, Éomer has been the bedrock for all of them.

"Then I am glad I came in time", he answers and places a hand on the Crown Prince's shoulder. He would offer words of comfort if he knew any... and if the sorrow of losing was not so close to his own heart too.

They exchange no more words then. Elessar gathers his strength and courage, and he is escorted into the royal chambers of Meduseld.

The King of Rohan is asleep when he arrives. The calm look on his face takes Aragorn years back, to a day of July when he found this man sleeping on a sunny terrace of his own palace. Oh, to be able to go back in time! But here he is, and it is time to say goodbye.

He moves heavily and each step closer to the bed makes the weight on him grow, until he is there beside the Lion of Rohan. Silently, he sits on the edge of bed and sighs. Inside, he feels emptiness.

When he takes his friend's hand in his own, Éomer wakes up and a small smile comes to his face.

"Brother", he murmurs sleepily, "I was already starting to think you might not come at all."

"Of course I did. I always come when you call me", says Aragorn quietly. His dear Rohir's smile turns sad at those words.

"I fear this is the last time I will ever call you, my dear friend", he answers. For a brief moment, Elessar closes his eyes and just breathes, though each intake of air seems like a torment. But he pushes the pain away, for there will be enough time for grief afterwards.

"May I...?" he asks ever so softly, resting a hand on the old Lion's shoulder, and the younger king understands right away what he wishes.

"Of course", Éomer answers. He grimaces in pain as Aragorn lifts him, but never complains. Once his head rests securely on the older king's lap, a calm look returns to his face.

He looks old and tired... but also peaceful.

_It makes sense, that you should die here, in my lap... _

"So this is the end of our long alliance", murmurs Elessar. There are so many things he should tell but the words escape him... and really, this is not the time to burden his beloved horselord with sorrows or regrets.

"Aye", Éomer agrees. "I am thankful."

"As am I. You have been, you are, and you will ever remain my dearest friend", Aragorn says, and the dying man smiles, agrees in silence.

"I would ask whether you will be fine when I am gone", says the Lion then softly, his voice thoughtful. "I suppose you will be, in time. You have Arwen, after all. I wonder... after these long years, is it too much for me to ask you to watch over my family?"

"Of course not. They are yours, and so they are mine too. I will love and guard them like you did yourself", Aragorn promises gently. He smiles, "But then, I doubt you have anything to worry about. You have done well, by them and by me. And you hold a sanctuary in all their hearts... but none so sacred as in mine."

Éomer smiles and briefly closes his eyes. Then he looks up again and the look in his dark eyes is that of knowledge.

_You know, don't you, my dearest King?_

And the Lion nods quietly and Elessar lets out a trembling breath.

"How long?" he asks and his voice is little more than a whisper.

"Years", Éomer answers softly.

"Why did you never say anything?" asks the King of Gondor.

"Because I feared what would happen if I did", says the Lord of the Mark. "And also out of respect for Queen Arwen."

"Of course", Elessar murmurs. "Perhaps you were right in that. What I have had for you – and what I still have for you – is something... I do not think it should ever have happened."

Surprisingly, it feels good to let this go, especially when his dear horselord's reaction is more of compassion than loathing. He feels it is a right thing to do, now that the end is near. It is right to part in honesty rather than with secrets.

"But happen it did, my friend", Éomer notes. After a silence, he asks, "Would you be happier without it?"

"I do not know", Elessar says at length, "for many of my happiest memories are divided between you and my queen... the two loves of my life. And there were often moments when, even if I did not speak my love aloud, I was happier for it. I would not trade those moments, not even if I could rid myself of the pain I had for the sake of my feelings. It is true: I have loved you beyond all reason, and I always will..."

"I am sorry I could never answer your devotion. It was not my wish to cause you torment", whispers the Lion.

"I know that. And blame is not yours anyway. It was for the better, I feel... for the sake of us all, our wives included. What love we have shared, our friendship and alliance, has been of fairer and gentler consequence than what could have been", Elessar tells him. Somehow, there is comfort in that thought.

Éomer smiles at that, looks relieved. His face turns peaceful once more and there is light in his eyes, and Aragorn knows he has told his dear Rohir the right thing.

Now, he can go in peace.

"Are you scared?" Elessar asks then.

"No... no. I am with you, after all. And I am going to see _her... _and so many friends who have gone before us. No. I fear no evil now", Éomer whispers. "And you?"

"A little bit", Aragorn admits. "A life without you is a scary thought."

"It is all right, brother. You said I have a sanctuary in your heart... if that is true, then I will never be far", he murmurs.

"Aye", is all Elessar can answer for the fear that he might fall in tears otherwise.

_It is hard to say goodbye, my love... _

"I can feel it coming. It is not long now", says the Lion quietly and a shiver passes through him. He looks at Aragorn, and asks: "Stay with me until the end?"

"Until the end... and beyond", Elessar promises, holds on tight to the hand of his most beloved friend and the love impossible and unfathomable. The grip of those once so powerful fingers is equally tight.

"Aragorn", Éomer whispers at last, and the light is now waning: it is time for sun to go down. "It is time. Farewell."

"Farewell, my love", Aragorn answers and leans down for a kiss goodbye. It tastes of parting and tears and love stronger than death, and then he feels the last breath of his beloved King... and Éomer King of Rohan is still, and his fire is ended. So comes to an ending one era, and Elessar knows nothing will ever be the same again.

When he can finally speak, he closes the dark, empty eyes, and whispers: "Sleep well, Son of Eorl."

* * *

King Elessar Telcontar takes his leave two days after the funeral. It is before sunrise for he wishes to begin his long and heavy journey home with as little fuss as is possible.

The ceremonies have been grand, even grander than those in the honour of Théoden King. But then, much has changed since those years. The passing of Éomer the Blessed has caused grief of a national scale, and friends and strangers from afar have travelled to pay their respects. He was a king loved and grieved by many... but now it his time to pass into a legend.

Elfwine's voice is soft as he bids Elessar safe journey. His eyes are bloodshot but there are no more tears to be shed for a beloved father. Now has come his kingship, and though Aragorn knows he will always miss Éomer King, he can also place his trust in his beloved Lion's son.

And so his escort turns and leaves, to head for Minas Tirith. What remains of the Fellowship of the Ring is there with him: ever-faithful Legolas and Gimli, and Halflings Meriadoc and Peregrin. They know how he grieves and so they do not object when he asks the company to stop not long after they have passed the gates of Edoras. Instead, they stand waiting while Aragorn rides back for a bit... and comes to a halt in the front of a mound of Simbelmynë.

Two days before, he watched them carry one of the two great loves of his life under that mound. Now the way is sealed and Éomer Éadig has his well-deserved rest.

_Are you now in those silent and eternal halls of Mandos, my dear Lion? Have you found your Queen there – are you at peace? _

He must let go, he knows that. But why must it be so difficult? Why must it hurt so bitterly? What would he give for just one more moment, one more embrace, one more kiss... If this death is a gift, why must it be such a painful thing?

_Does your spirit linger in this world still, or have you passed beyond the circles of the world? Oh, I miss you already... _

Should such a time come when even the tombs of the kings of old are torn open, they will find in the grave of the King who was Blessed a ring. In his finger rests a jewel, made into the image of that ring which Felagund once gave to Barahir. But none will know what it means, nor the devotion it signifies, for the story of how Elessar loved the Lion of Rohan will remain a tale untold.

_I will see you again. One day, I will join you, outside the imprisoning shackles of this world. Will you be there to welcome me home? _

Aragorn sighs, kisses his fingers, presses them against the stone of that doorway of the Lion's grave. _As long as I have a sanctuary in your heart, I will never be far. _He closes his eyes and many thoughts pass in his mind. He thinks of life and death, of hope and despair, and loving and losing. He thinks of all the years he still has ahead of him. Even now, there is hope: in the love of Evenstar, in the thought of reunion, in life's enduring. And he lets go, and breathes.

_Fare thee well, my love. _

Then at last he turns.

He turns, and watches the sun rise.

**THE END.**

* * *

_And, as always happens, and happens far too soon, the strange and wonderful becomes a memory and a memory becomes a dream.  
_

_- Terry Pratchett_

* * *

**A/N:** And so ends this little story. I must say, it has been an interesting experiment. Approaching the relationship of Éomer and Aragorn from this angle was rather fascinating, if unusual. I know this last chapter is kind of humongous but I really couldn't cut away anything, and in doing a split there is alway a danger I can't stop. Three parts was in the first place the most I wanted and intended to write.

Like some of you have commented, this is an odd divergence from what I usually write. That is quite true. Like I said in the first chapter's author's note, I do believe Aragorn is very content in loving Arwen. But as I also added, there's been happening some weird shit in my life and it's not the first time for me when weird things IRL turn into weird writing. Plus, I don't know how it is for other writers but at least I like to experiment with different approaches and styles sometimes. I regard it as a brain exercise. My idea of writing is that always keep your mind open for different things. And a good thing about fanfiction is that there you can try out stuff like this. Also, after years of having to listen some friends blather about Aragorn/Legolas (which, to me, makes even less sense than this approach) I consider myself quite allowed to take this route at least once. :D

However, I must emphasise this is not something I intend to carry on to other stories. It's been fun so far as an "why-the-effing-not" experiment but that's really all it is for me.

In any case, I hope at least someone enjoyed this story!

* * *

**Talia119 - **I must say, I never even considered the possibility of replacing Aragorn with Éothain or anyone else for that matter. As a writer, I find this setting far more dynamic and interesting to write about than some other. That's of course just my personal view and someone else might find some other setting more fascinating. Of course Aragorn and Arwen's relationship is documented by Tolkien, but I still feel it allows a bit of speculation... but then, I do agree in general that Aragorn and Arwen are very content in each other's love.


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